


Umbrella Boy

by haveyouseenmyuser



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Harry is oh so cute, Louis is oh so pretty, M/M, Umbrella boys, Very short little thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 01:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10753443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haveyouseenmyuser/pseuds/haveyouseenmyuser
Summary: Harry leans back on a wall, because he is only a five minute walk from his building, but five minutes in this would be the equivalent of five seconds in a swimming pool - too long, essentially.After twenty seconds, another boy scampers into the overhang, and he’s wearing a pretty shirt and a flimsy mac, and his hair looks like time and effort has been spent on it, because nobody’s hair is that naturally pretty.“Fuck, fuck, shit. Fuck. Sorry.”The fifth word is directed at Harry, and Harry waves a hand, trying to indicate that it is perfectly acceptable to swear copiously at the weather./Or - Harry and Louis get stuck in a storm.





	Umbrella Boy

It starts raining. Abruptly, as if a switch has been hit somewhere.

Fat, heavy, droplets, that hit the London sidewalk hard and bounce back with added interest.

Harry swears, a couple of times, and then side steps into an overhanging doorway, trying to find his umbrella in his too full bag.

As he roots, the rain gets really intense, as if the rain has been personally offended by the city, in some way. And Harry makes the choice to stay in the arched doorway, because he isn’t in a rush, and because the umbrella will probably only keep his top half dry, at best. Besides, this sort of intense rain only usually lasts ten minutes maximum. It’ll ease off soon.

Harry leans back on a wall, because he is only a five minute walk from his building, but five minutes in this would be the equivalent of five seconds in a swimming pool - too long, essentially.

After twenty seconds, another boy scampers into the overhang, and he’s wearing a pretty shirt and a flimsy mac, and his hair looks like time and effort has been spent on it, because nobody’s hair is that naturally pretty.

“Fuck, fuck, shit. Fuck. Sorry.”

The fifth word is directed at Harry, and Harry waves a hand, trying to indicate that it is perfectly acceptable to swear copiously at the weather. The boy nods, and swears again, trying to look up at the sky without getting wet.

“So, how long until this passes, do you think?”

Harry hesitates slightly, unsure whether he is actually being spoken to, and then clears his throat.

“It’ll be gone in ten minutes, probably.”

The boy sighs restlessly, and then checks his phone.

“I’m already late - couldn’t find my keys, you know? And I’m supposed to be meeting this girl, for a date, which feels pretty ill-advised, but anyway, should I just turn up late? Even later? Or turn up really wet? What would you do?”

Harry stumbles over him, unsure what answer to give this pretty, pretty stranger.

“Uhm, if you are already late, maybe you should just message her with another apology? It won’t make that much difference.”

The boy clicks his tongue at him, shrugging.

“I don’t have her number. She’ll probably think that I’ve stood her up. Oh well.”

Harry remembers the umbrella in his bag.

“Oh, wait, I have an umbrella. You can take that, if you want?”

The boy takes the offered umbrella cautiously, looking amused.

“Are you sure- don’t you want to use it?”

Harry shrugs, embarrassed by his offer.

“Oh, um, I live close, in the Richardson building, so it doesn’t matter. It’s only a £5 umbrella, tops.” Harry regrets the mention of money, the instant that it is out of his mouth, but thankfully the boy latches onto the first part of his sentence.

“I know that building! Okay, are you sure? I’ll bring it back.”

Harry gives him a thumbs up, seeking something else to say.

“Good luck with the date!”

The boy rolls his eyes, shaking the umbrella out, and glancing cautiously out into the street.

“Oh, it’ll be a disaster, I’m sure. You’ve got to go for these things though, haven’t you? Thanks for the umbrella - I owe you one.”

“An umbrella?” Harry calls out, amused, as the boy steps out into the rain. The pretty boy turns on his heels, smiling.

“A whatever, okay? I owe you a whatever.”

Harry smiles at the idea, but the boy is gone, disappearing into the rain.

…

Later that evening, when Harry has turned over the encounter in his mind numerous times, he realizes that he didn’t give the boy anyway of identifying him again, other than his building name.

At best, the boy will probably drop the umbrella off with the doorman, and that will be that.

Harry turns off his computer, and stretches, sleepy.

He hopes that the boy’s date went well.

…

Harry doesn’t really think about his umbrella, or the boy, for another three days. But then at the restaurant he works at, one of the other serving staff is wearing a new cologne, the same one that the pretty boy had been wearing, and it triggers a question from Harry, before he’s even thought about it.

“I really like your cologne; is it new?”

Liam shrugs at him, and then sniffs at his own wrist.

“Yeah, a birthday present. Here…” And he proffers his wrist, and Harry sniffs, suddenly smelling the rain and the way that the boy had smiled at him.

“Yeah, um… it’s nice.”

Liam smiles his thanks, and that had been that.

Harry thinks about the boy for the rest of his shift.

…

Harry wonders why he thinks of him as ‘the boy’, and not ‘umbrella boy’.

It’s a stupid thought, but it is one that he goes to bed with.

(Every night for two weeks)

…

After a week, there’s a change around in the door rota, and that is probably the only reason that Harry gets his umbrella back, because Mick, the one member of the staff that he is actually friendly with, sees him on his way to work.

“Hey - is this your umbrella?”

Harry nods a couple of times, and says “yes, it is!”, trying not to sound like he’s witnessed the second coming of Christ. Mick nods at him.

“A boy left it here a couple of weeks ago, but I haven’t seen you to give it back. How are you? Not letting the city beat you?”

Harry makes it through about three minutes of awkward conversation as best he can, because there is a note attached to the handle, and Harry needs to read it immediately.

…

_ Hey! _

_ So the date was shit - she talked with her mouth full and told me how expensive her earrings were within the first ten minutes. But that wasn’t your umbrella’s fault, so thank you. _

_ I was thinking we should maybe get coffee, or a drink, or a something? I’m pretty sure I said I owed you a whatever, so you can state the terms. If you want. Otherwise just ignore this, and just accept my thanks for being a nice stranger with a generous attitude towards his umbrella. _

_ My number is below. _

_ Louis :) _

_ … _

It takes another day for Harry to carefully type the number into his phone, and then spend approximately three hours, drafting an opening message.

_ Hi- you are welcome for the umbrella loan! Coffee would be cool, sometime, if you are sure. _

Immediately after pressing spend, Harry realizes that he’s left out a crucial detail, and has to send another message, straight away.

_ My name is Harry, by the way. _

After ten minutes, whilst Harry is having an ill advised cup of tea because he has heard that they are supposed to be soothing, his phone buzzes next to him.

_ Hi! I thought you must have thrown the note away. we’ll totally do coffee - how’s this weekend? Also, thank you for telling me your name; I can stop thinking of you as ‘Umbrella Boy, now. _

Harry laughs despite himself, and sets about responding.

_ … _

They get coffee to go, on the Sunday morning, and walk to the small local park, which isn’t really a park but rather a patch of green, with a couple of benches that look out at a section of the Thames.

It’s nice, and Harry forgets to worry, because talking to Louis turns out to be easy.

Louis’ hair looks as pretty as it did the first time Harry met him, and it sets Harry wondering.

“Thanks for the ‘whatever.’”

Louis smiles at him, and then tips his head sideways.

“What kind of ‘whatever’ would you like this to be? Coffee? New friend? Or…?”

Louis isn’t shy, Harry decides. He likes it.

“The ‘or’ kind of whatever, I guess. Maybe? I don’t know. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like…  _ pretty. _ God. You are making conversation  _ difficult _ .”

Louis laughs, in an abrupt giggle that just keeps happening, until Harry is laughing along with him.

"You’re cute, Umbrella Boy.”

“Hey - that’s  _ my  _ name for you! We can’t both be called Umbrella Boy, that would be ridiculous.”

…

The first time Harry kisses Louis, he tastes of coffee.

And smells like the rain.

…

 


End file.
